My first clear memories are of depression. I didn’t know why anyone would like me. When there was a prize in school I wanted to win, I would tell myself how much I didn’t want it in an attempt to “trick” god into giving me something nice for a change. As a teenager I nearly killed myself, twice. I got help, ended the crisis and thought I was okay, finally. Sure, the darkness lingered but I was able to fake it when I needed to, and doesn’t everyone?
Last year my marriage ended and the crash that happened for me afterward brought home to me how much I had been keeping myself going because someone, ANYONE, wanted me around. All of my self-loathing and doubt came flooding back. My old fears that if I stopped being useful to people they would leave returned with a vengeance. It’s been a very rough year.
I’m slowly working through it all, but I’ve spent more time hiding from companionship than I have seeking it. Why? Because I’m still trying to convince myself it won’t eventually end in more heartbreak when they eventually see through my facade, stop needing my help, and move on.
I suspect I’ll be dealing with this the rest of my life.